


need to be youthfully felt

by merrymegtargaryen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Do not repost, F/M, Hate Sex, Semi-Public Sex, stepmother/stepson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-11-01 02:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen
Summary: She tries to be more careful than this, most of the time. She's getting reckless. They both are. And Cat, who's never once been reckless, finds that she likes it.





	need to be youthfully felt

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the first time I ever watched Game of Thrones, I knew nothing about it going in, and the lingering look shared between Catelyn and Jon in the first episode? I totally thought they were banging. So here I am six years later, writing them banging.

She finds him in the godswood. The eyes of the heart tree watch them, but Catelyn pays them no mind. They were never her gods.

He looks up at her with those eyes, a cold fire burning, as she wraps her fingers around his hair and tips his head back. He returns her kiss hungrily, eagerly, and when she straddles his lap, those sure fingers stroke her hip in a way that sets her aflame. She fumbles between them, loosening this and that and untying his and now hers, until his hand is at her center, stroking her through her wetness. It shames her, how quickly he gets that reaction from her. It takes little more than a thought or a look for her to pulse with desire, to clamp her thighs together in anticipation. 

She tries to be more careful than this, most of the time. She tries to limit their trysts to dark corners and empty corridors. The Broken Tower, if they can manage, or the crypts, but once or twice he’s taken her in his room. Never in a place as open as the godswood, where anyone could walk in. She’s getting reckless. They both are.

And Cat, who’s never once been reckless, who’s always weighed the consequences before making a decision, finds that she likes it. 

This isn’t like her. She’s never been unfaithful to her husband before. She loves Ned, she truly does, and she feels no affection for Jon. If anything, she hates him. Hates him for reminding her every single day that Ned took another woman to bed after they wed. Hates him for reminding her so very much of Ned, before he’d left for war and came back with his sister’s corpse and a bastard boy. Jon has never been with another woman, and the thought fills her with a rush of satisfaction. He has only been with her and no one else, and in that respect, he has more honor than his father. 

She reaches for his cock with her hand, and now it’s his turn to wrap his hand around her hair, pulling back her own head. She strokes until he’s hard as a rock, and then she bats his hand away to take him inside her. 

She wishes it didn’t feel so good, taking him like this. It’s never felt this good with Ned. Their couplings have always been dutiful, devoid of passion. With Jon, it’s  _ only _ passion, a fire that needs to burn its fullest before it can smolder. 

She rides him the way she would never ride Ned, rolls her hips and mewls the way no lady should. And all the while Jon looks up at her, that cold fire burning as he thrusts harder and deeper inside her.

Does he feel the same guilt as her, having his father’s wife?  _ Should I feel guiltier, having my husband’s son? _

But he strikes that part inside her, his finger teasing her pink bud, and she can feel no guilt as she buries her face in his neck, muffling her ragged cries. His own release follows shortly after hers, cock jerking as he spills his seed inside her.

“No,” she murmurs, but they both know it matters not. Ned already has three trueborn sons, and Jon is his father’s son. Even if his seed takes, the child will be of Ned Stark, and they will not stand to inherit anything. 

Still. The thought of a child, of  _ Jon’s _ child, fills her with a hot feeling she attributes to guilt, and it’s why, as soon as he stills, only the faintest tremble in his shoulders, she stands up, keeping her skirts around her hips. 

“Clean it up,” she orders.

There’s a flash of resentment in his eyes, resentment and something dangerously close to desire. He sinks to his knees, keeping his eyes on hers as he licks up his spend, trickling out of her cunt and running down her legs. He cleans up all of it, swallowing the milky white seed, and it sends another pulse of desire through her. She pushes it away, unwilling to let him have this affect on her. It’s bad enough to have him as she does, to let him think she needs him to scratch an itch, but for her to be wet and ready for him mere moments after she’s come…

She lets her skirts fall, taking an icy step back before he can go too far. The resentment comes back to his eyes, but she only stares coolly back.  _ She _ is the one in control here, not him.

“My lady,” he grits out.

“Snow.” She turns on her heel, skirts flaring around her as she walks quickly from the godswood. She can feel his eyes on her back, watching her. She does not turn back. Because if she does…

Well. She won’t think about that now. She won’t think about that  _ ever _ . 


End file.
